Cars and gas control our world.
Humans cannot function without cars.
The cost of gas controls our work and school transits,
the cost of our food and our living rooms.
It is always cold without oil,
mainly in January.
How can humans go on?

I am Dorothy - the Small and Meek.

I scamper down the road of yellow bricks,
hand and hand with man who looks like he just came out of the fields.
We, my friends and I, are all wanting something:
the ability to love,
the strength to not crack under pressure or fear
the stability of a home life,
intelligence.
These are very practical things to want,
but who knows if we will get them.
For now, we are just going to enjoy our journey,
our journey to various goals,
We continue walking, my red sparkly shoes trudging on the yellow brick road.

The plants in this room are not aesthetically pleasing.
They sit in a tank and wait to get watered by their owner, my roommate.
The light to keep them warm is constantly on,
because without this extra sunlight, they would surely die.
The light that keeps the plants alive keeps me up at night,
it fuels my insomnia.
The light is so bright, but it is giving life to the plants,
so I must compromise my sleep and my sanity to keep them alive.
It is but another representation that my needs are expendable.
The needs of others,
no matter how dependent on water and owner’s care,
are always much more important than my own.
My feelings and sleep are not necessary.

The
stressful week
is upon me

So
many things
that need doing

I
want to
frolic in the sun

It
is so
chilly and cloudy

Will
my life
ever come together?

Who
will ever
know or care?

I take a seat on the bus,
a middle of the road, a nothing special seat
trying to keep my anxiety ridden head in order
Country music blares through the speakers -
the bus driver must be a country fan.
The twang of the singer’s voice gets on my last nerve.
I hate country.
The singer wales about a long lost love,
his first love,
his fire,
his everything.

Little does the bus driver know,
but his stupid little country song is the narration of my thoughts
I bet the bus driver never knew how it felt to have his heart run over.
I want to jump off the bus right now.
I don’t want to be here,
I don’t want to be anywhere.

The bus rears onward and the sun is shining.
I take a deep breath,
I try with my hardest effort to maintain a smile on my face.
No one on this bus knows how I am feeling.
I’ll just keep rolling on,
as the bus brings me to my destination.

These days either I want to sleep all the time or never at all.
Lullabies don’t help me.

The sadness and hopelessness I feel make me want to lay in bed all day,
but the anxiety, angry and pensiveness I feel make it hard to sleep,
even when it’s two am and I know I need to function in the world the next day.

I feel so alone and sleep perpetuates that loneliness.
I swing between extremes;
all the sleep or none.
I don’t know what’s wrong with me.
I just want to be okay again
I don’t want to feel sad.

Sleeping is difficult these days.
I don’t know if or when I’ll sleep comfortably again.
Maybe I really do need a lullaby.

Dear Desk Chair,

I apologize for my misuse of you.
I haven’t been giving you a lot of attention -
my mind has been elsewhere.

I know I should be sitting in you,
studying to my heart’s content
but honestly, desk chair,
studying the Montogomery Bus Boycott of 1956
has not been at the forefront of my thoughts lately.

When it comes to spare time, desk chair,
I’d rather spend it in Bed,
where I can forget the world for a little while,
as my comfortable blankets and stuffed animals are my only friends.

I apologize for being a neglectful owner as well as student.

A blurry, sunrise photograph reminded me of that hot, hazy day and night.
It’s almost a year ago, June the 1st is just around the corner.
My memories are flooding back…

We all sit cross-legged as you strum your guitar,
and we run down to the water and put our feet in the freezing, early morning Atlantic.
Your face is contorted in the darkness of the living sea,
as you go for a short swim.

We watched the sunrise and the pink and red pigments reflect onto the ocean,
and onto your smiling face.
I wish I had taken a picture.

That entire day feels like a dream,
did it really happen, I question?

Trees

I don’t think I could write a poem as lovely as tree,
I’m not particularly talented in the art of putting words together.

You see, I can’t even rhyme this stinking poem,
It’s a useless waste of time.

I wish I could write a poem as lovely as a tree,
But it doesn’t seem possible.

I’m even more of a fool than the poet
who originally asserted that God can only make trees.

Maybe some day, some miracle will happen
and I’ll be able to write poems more effectively.